


Cat and Mouse

by Inksinger



Series: On Azerothian Soil [5]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:25:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inksinger/pseuds/Inksinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lor'themar doesn't often drink himself under the table, but when he does it's usually because Halduron hasn't been paying enough attention to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cat and Mouse

Lor’themar had completely lost track of how many glasses of wine he had consumed in the last few hours, although judging by the two empty wine bottles in front of him, the third, partially empty bottle with which he was pouring himself yet another drink, and the haze that had gradually settled over him somewhere between the bottom of the first bottle and the third or fourth glass he had poured from the second… he had probably had a bit too much to drink.

Not that he was terribly concerned about this; it was the middle of the night, and he had nowhere to be and no one to put up with. In fact, he should have been asleep a few hours ago – tomorrow would start with another ‘discussion’ about the state of Quel’Thalas’s treasury, which typically meant he would have to sit through roughly an hour of listening to Rommath squall about the treasury and blame everyone under the sun for its current deficit (except those of the Magisterium, none of whom couldpossibly be responsible for the depletion despite having blown a good fourth of it on new staffs, new robes, new dinnerware… all very important and necessary things, or so they would all claim if anyone called them on their spending habits.)

Having to sit through that while also being painfully hungover might just be enough to put the Regent Lord in a coma, but, again, this didn’t bother him right now. His only goal tonight was to get as inebriated as he could manage without becoming physically incapable of moving from his desk to his bed. He knew the line between drunken oblivion and alcohol poisoning was a thin one,but was relatively certain he would forget why he wanted to be drunk before that actually became an issue.

It wasn’t exactly healthy; every bottle he consumed in indulgence only served to do more damage to his liver. Neither did he think very highly of himself for essentially drowning his sorrows as he was – as he did every night Halduron went off to sleep with one of his favorites among the many prostitutes who worked the seedier parts of Murder Row.

Lor’themar grimaced and drained his glass in two or three long pulls, then coughed and reached again for his bottle. No. He was not going to think about Halduron tonight.

He was not going to imagine the Ranger-General sauntering through the back alleys of Silvermoon’s red-light district, nor was he going to imagine that man setting up as many cat-calls and wolf-whistles as he received from the men and women who worked their visitors dry of every last coin they owned. He was not going to picture Halduron picking one (or two, or Light knew even three) of the better-looking doxies and callboys to spend a long, sleepless night with in some overpriced inn that catered almost exclusively to prostitutes and their clients. And he most certainly was not going to imagine that Halduron went off to Murder Row so often because he preferred to sleep with disease-ridden harlots rather than with Lor’themar himself.

Three more glasses passed his lips, and somewhere in the haze he vaguely remembered heading to the bathroom and running into a doorway that was much narrower than he remembered it being (or was he just staggering much more erratically than he realized?) The fact that he nearly missed his chair when he went to sit down again probably would have disturbed him more if he hadn’t already been so intoxicated.

His fourth glass (from this bottle) only sparked another round of brooding. What was it that Halduron saw in those… those amateurs? What did any overpriced whore have that Lor’themar did not? Surely not charm – no one who sold his or her body for a handful of silver and gold coins an hour could possibly possess any more charm than what they needed to get paid for their efforts. Nor could any of them possibly have any experience to match his own; most of the whores on Murder Row were barely into their first century, half as old as Halduron and a third at best as Lor’themar. He refused to believe those adolescents could do anything to any client that he could not copy with ten times the skill.

The third bottle ran empty much faster than the first two had, and before long the now thoroughly fuddled Regent Lord realized he had managed to drain a fourth bottle, too – seemingly he had given up on pouring himself glasses at some point, because his next coherent memory was of setting the fourth bottle down and wiping his mouth while he glared sullenly at his wine glass, which lay empty on the floor near his feet.

Something in his alcohol-addled mind – possibly whatever was left of his ability to think reasonably – told Lor’themar it was time to stop before he really did put himself in medical danger. As it was, the inebriated former Ranger was surprised he hadn’t managed to pass out on his desk; evidently the number of times he had done this had given him more of an immunity to the effects of magic-laced alcohol, although that odd something at the back of his mind murmured that he would still suffer the same earth-shattering headache this sort of binge drinking always produced, heightened tolerance or no.

~~~

Lor’themar awoke the next morning to utter misery.

Though he had managed to stumble into his bedroom and land, stone-cold drunk, safely on his bed before passing out for the night, he had not had the presence of mind to close the curtains more than they already had been when he had given up staring moodily out the window in favor of drinking himself window in favor of drinking himself under the table. This being the case, there was now just enough of a gap between those curtains to allow a thin, powerfully bright beam of sunlight to pierce the otherwise blissfully dark bedroom – and, of course, this same little beam managed to land exactly in Lor’themar’s remaining eye, which did _wonders_  for the myriad explosions that were already tearing the inside of his skull to pieces every time he blinked.

The good news, he supposed, was that the light was indeed coming from a low enough point in the sky to hit him in the face where he lay; his window faced lands to the east that were low and level enough that the sun typically hit the window long before the night watch traded guardianship of the Spire with the early morning shift. This was almost infallibly an hour or so before anyone else in the Spire normally awoke, which meant the Regent Lord at least had some time to deal with his hangover before he would have to face Rommath’s unending complaints about the state of the kingdom’s funds.

With a groan, he dragged himself off of the mattress (by the Light, he hadn’t even been able to crawl under the damn covers, he’d been so far gone…) and made his way clumsily back to his office, intending to at least get rid of any evidence of his latest binge before anyone – say, Rommath – saw it and jumped down his throat for ‘boorish behavior’. It was slow going; his head still felt ready to explode, and more than once he had to stop and take a few slow, deep breaths to keep from throwing up, but he did eventually make it to the door between this room and his office.

He smelled the burning bloodthistle before he stepped inside; that alone was all he needed to identify his visitor, which was good, because the smell momentarily made it difficult for him to see clearly (although the cynical part of his mind commented that at least he only had one eye, and so couldn’t end up seeing double no matter how dizzy he became.)

“You’re back early,” he greeted the yellow-blond man who sat with his feet propped on Lor’themar’s desk.

Halduron grinned and and took another drag on his blunt before he answered, “And you’re awake rather early. Looks like four bottles just isn’t enough to put you under anymore, eh, Lor’themar?”

Lor’themar grimaced and started to make his way over to his desk, only to stagger as another wave of nausea hit him; the effect was so immediately intense that it caused the Regent Lord to cling to the doorframe until his head stopped swimming.

Even before he recovered, Halduron was at his side; taking him by the arm, the Ranger General guided Lor’themar to a chair and steadied his friend as he carefully sat down. An unnecessary gesture; a thousand protests flitted around in Lor’themar’s mind, each one sharper and more petulant than the last, but instead he gave a low murmur of thanks before Halduron swept off to find some water.

“You picked a poor time to do this to yourself,” Halduron informed his friend. “You do remember there’s a meeting about the treasury in less than three hours, don’t you?”

Lor’themar leveled a glower at the Ranger General’s back. “No, I believe that completely slipped my mind after my third or fourth glass,” he answered dryly.

Halduron’s only answer to that was to let out a low, dry chuckle, and after another moment of glaring pointlessly after his friend Lor’themar sighed and propped his forehead against one callused palm. Light, but his head ached – although, he mused, he had suffered worse migraines in the days following the loss of his left eye.

“Here.”

Lor’themar flinched as sunlight reflected off the glass Halduron held in front of him – and right into his eye again. Still, he took the proffered glass of water and chugged it down, grateful for something to drink that wasn’t rotted grape juice. It wasn’t enough to quench his thirst, but at least it no longer felt as though he inhaled sand with every breath.

“You look like hell.” When Lor’themar looked up again, Halduron was sitting on the edge of the desk next to him, one eyebrow raised. “Were you hoping the pounding migraine and random fits of nausea would be enough to get you out of going?”

“Perhaps I was trying to kill myself,” Lor’themar quipped. “It would be preferable to listening to Celindra bemoan the state of the treasury again.”

Halduron grinned and straightened with all the grace of one of the hundreds of cats that overran Quel’Thalas, seemingly oblivious to the sideways glance Lor’themar cast him before turning his attention back to the empty glass still in his hand. Seemingly – and yet Lor’themar was certain the blond elf had at least sensed the furtive look.

“Sadly, it doesn’t seem to have worked,” Halduron sighed, adopting a mournful tone that didn’t fool Lor’themar for a moment. “You’re clearly still breathing, and the meeting is still only two and a half hours away. You still have some time to pull yourself together,” he added, casting his friend a pointed sideways glance, “if you stop feeling sorry for yourself and get moving.”

The barb would have made a lesser man indignant, but Lor’themar knew the blond well enough to hear the teasing tone in his voice. Either way, the man had a point; stifling a groan, Lor’themar pushed himself up and made his way carefully to the bathroom, ignoring the flash of satisfaction he felt at being able to do so steadily this time.

Being able to retreat behind a closed door of any sort was a relief in and of itself. The cold water Lor’themar splashed his face with helped bring some clarity back to him – and at least here he could take a minute to compose himself without feeling Halduron’s too-sharp eyes on him.

He felt foolish for having gotten himself so inebriated the night before – just as he always did the mornings after such binges. This had not been the first time Halduron had gone off to spend a night in Murder Row, nor was it very likely to be the last. And it wasn’t as though Halduron ever given any indication that he suspected his… excursions were the reason Lor’themar had started drinking himself under the table so often of late. It had truly become a way to attempt to ignore the fact that Halduron was sleeping with someone – often several someones – other than Lor’themar.

And even that didn’t work. It never had, but Lor’themar allowed himself to believe it at least gave him something to do besides mope about the situation (this was of course a bold-faced lie, but Lor’themar was used to lying to himself and on occasion even believed himself. Sadly, however, this was not one of those times.)

A glance in the mirror treated the Regent Lord to a rather vulgar sight: A red-rimmed set of eyes (well… an eye and an eye socket with lids, in any event), accentuated by hideously dark circles, stared back at him from a face several shades too pale, and his long, white hair was, to be blunt, a nightmare of tangles and odd clumps that stood out at even stranger angles. He wondered briefly why he had fallen asleep before  _taking his horsetail down_ , then remembered he had been too drunk to walk properly at the time and dismissed the train of thought in favor of fixing his poor hair.

Although he supposed, as he worked at a particularly nasty tangle of knots, that he should be grateful for any opportunity to lengthen the amount of time he spent out of Halduron’s line of sight. Being around that man at the moment was causing him to feel simultaneously frustrated and defensive – never a good combination, least of all when Lor’themar was painfully hungover. Such conditions tended to make him say things before he considered their consequences, and after all, it wasn’t as though Halduron was purposefully  _trying_ to wear on his nerves by going out as often as he did. Lashing out at his friend would be to no one’s benefit.

It was not the first time Lor’themar did not believe his own lies – nor, he accepted with an inward sigh, was it at all likely to be the last.

~~~

As expected, the meeting later that morning was less than a civilized conversation about the kingdom’s treasury and how it might be built back up and better managed. In fact, it was really more of an indignant, entirely _un_ civilized argument between Rommath and Halduron over who was more at fault for it remaining at the all-time low around which it had been hovering since the events surrounding the reclamation of the Sunwell.

In all fairness, it was Celindra’s fault that there had even been any bickering. If the silly woman hadn’t mentioned there was a large amount of money that no one had been able to account for, Rommath would not have started pointing fingers to begin with and Halduron would not have needed to say anything to bring the Grand Magister back down to Azeroth.

After all, any blind idiot could tell it was the Magisterium and the Blood Knight Order who were the most to blame for the treasury’s dilapidated state. When Rommath had started the meeting by immediately trying to pin the blame wholly upon the Farstriders (something Halduron was certain had become a hobby for the bastard), the Ranger General had been quick to retaliate and eager to point out that Silvermoon’s magisters were suddenly much more finely clothed than they had been just a few months ago – and they were now equipped with very nice wands and staves for elves who supposedly shared the burden of Quel’Thalas’ weakened economy with the rest of their fellow citizens.

Rommath hadn’t taken the implication very gracefully. Halduron generously assumed the old man was simply not a morning person, or that he had perhaps not slept very well; after all, surely the Grand Magister would not have reacted so violently as to throw his glass of wine at the Ranger General if he had had a restful sleep the night before.

Eventually Lor’themar had stepped in and put a stop to their disagreement, as he always did. Halduron wondered how his friend had been able to sit through as much as he had when it was plain to see he was still suffering a bloody painful migraine… but then again, neither had the Regent Lord stepped in with his usual collected, in-control demeanor. In fact, he had not ‘stepped in’ so much as jumped down both of his colleagues’ throats and flatly told them both that their childlike squabbling was doing nothing productive and only served to waste everyone’s time.

Rommath had turned a rather interesting shade of purple at that and immediately shut up, though judging by the death glares he had sent Halduron for the rest of the meeting the argument was far from over.

The meeting had finally come to an end another half-hour later – just a few minutes ago, as a matter of fact. Now Halduron found himself milling aimlessly through the Spire’s hallways, pondering Lor’themar’s sudden snap. Even while suffering such a severe hangover (and _why_ did he insist upon drinking himself so far under the table as to risk going into a coma?), Lor’themar usually carried himself better than that when his colleagues went after each other. It wasn’t as though it was anything  _new_ , after all; Halduron couldn’t remember a time when he and Rommath  _hadn’t_ ground against each other’s nerves. It was as natural to him as the shift from one season to another.

He hadn’t thought it was so much of an irritant to Lor’themar anymore, either, but perhaps the Regent Lord had more on his mind than sleeping off the consequences of his late-night binging?

Halduron’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He was no fool; he’d long made the connection between the nights Lor’themar drank himself into oblivion and the nights he, Halduron, went out to one or another of his favorite corners of the city. The coincidence was too great to write off as being simply that, but it hadn’t been until recently that Halduron had begun to entertain the idea that it might be a result of jealousy rather than simple loneliness – largely because it hadn’t been until recently that Lor’themar had also started to behave much more tersely towards Halduron and no one else on the mornings immediately after the Regent Lord’s binges. In fact, this morning had been the first in several months that Lor’themar hadn’t told Halduron to leave him be, even when the younger man had helped him to a seat before he fell flat on his face.

An amused smile tugged at the corners of Halduron’s mouth; ah, so _that’s_ what it was, then? Leave it to a man like Lor’themar to keep something so ridiculous to himself, even when the evidence all but screamed what he was trying to hide to anyone who paid attention.

Never mind the fact it had taken Halduron a little while to piece that evidence together this time. That wasn’t important right now.

What  _was_ important – vastly more so than wandering about and hoping something would happen just so he would have something to  _do_  – was that Lor’themar, his Regent Lord and closest friend for decades longer, was drinking himself into a stupor on a nightly basis over the (absolutely ridiculous) idea that Halduron was deliberately avoiding sleeping with him. Besides the fact that it was far from healthy, it was by far the silliest thing the older man had ever done in all the years Halduron had known him.

Well, clearly the man was never going to work up the nerve to do the intelligent thing and  _discuss_  the matter with Halduron. The Ranger General sighed, turned on his heel, and started towards Lor’themar’s rooms; it appeared he was going to have to confront the stubborn man for himself if he was to set him straight again.

Not an entirely unappealing prospect – and a mischievous smirk played across Halduron’s lips as he made his way through the Spire’s halls.

Of course, when he finally reached the Regent Lord’s rooms and stepped inside, he found Lor’themar at his desk, attempting to read over a report or letter and stopping periodically to take a drink from the tall glass of water perched on one corner of the desk. From where he currently stood, Halduron could see just enough of the other man’s face to mark the tension in his jaw and around his eyes; clearly, Lor’themar was still suffering the effects of his latest bout of idiocy.

“A Regent Lord’s work never ends, eh, Lor’themar?” Halduron asked lightheartedly.

Lor’themar visibly flinched – though, to be fair, it was barely more than a twitch of his eye, and Halduron only caught the movement at all due to his long years as a ranger and the fact that he had already been watching his friend’s face to begin with.

“Halduron,” Lor’themar sighed, putting the parchment down and turning to eye the younger man warily. “What are you doing here?”

“I only stopped in to see how you were faring with that hangover of yours,” Halduron replied, letting the barbed question slide by without comment. “You seemed worse off this morning than you usually are.”

Lor’themar narrowed his eye – the other remained hidden beneath the eyepatch – but said nothing more as he turned back to the letter still in his hand. It was a very pointed gesture, one that plainly said,  _you can leave now_.

“You know, pouring over your mountain of paperwork isn’t going to ease the migraine any,” Halduron noted after a moment. When Lor’themar didn’t respond, the Ranger General loped over to stand just behind his shoulder, close enough that Lor’themar shifted just a bit as Halduron leaned forward and made a show of peeking at the… ah, it was a report from one of the outposts.

“This looks like it can wait,” Halduron murmured. The way he was standing put his mouth about level with Lor’themar’s ear, and Halduron didn’t miss the way the older man’s breath hitched for just a moment.

Even still, Lor’themar seemed to be trying his best to ignore Halduron. Not to be deterred, the younger man started casually fiddling with a strand of Lor’themar’s long, white-blonde hair, feigning total ignorance as Lor’themar’s eye fluttered for a moment.

“Halduron…” Lor’themar grumbled.

“You work yourself too hard, Lor’themar,” Halduron told him. “You need some time to yourself, without any paperwork to distract you.” Almost as though it was an afterthought, Halduron added, “And without any alcohol – I’m surprised you haven’t wound up comatose yet.”

“Speaking of distractions,” Lor’themar said. “I am busy at the moment, Halduron.”

“No, you’re ignoring me. Or trying to, in any event.” The younger man slid his fingers through his friend’s hair, admiring the silky texture as he watched Lor’themar draw a shaky breath. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t quite feel like being ignored today.”

Lor’themar tilted his head back just a bit as Halduron drew his fingers through his hair a second time and let out a low rumble from the depths of his throat. “Was last night not enough for you?”

“That depends.” Halduron leaned closer and placed both hands on Lor’themar’s shoulders as he murmured, “Are you referring to what I was up to last night, or the fact that you seem to believe I am deliberately toying with you by avoiding you at night and coddling you most mornings after you’ve drunk yourself half to death?”

Lor’themar flinched under his hands; his voice was almost a low growl as he muttered, “You sound as though you already know the answer to that.”

“I’ve certainly noticed a correlation between the nights I’m gone and the mornings I find you staggering drunkenly about, yes,” Halduron replied amiably. His hands started gently kneading at Lor’themar’s shoulders, causing the other’s breath to hitch more audibly this time. “But I would prefer to hear you tell me – truthfully – what’s wrong, rather than make my own assumptions and causing even more trouble in doing so.”

Lor’themar let out a short, barking laugh then, followed by another groan as Halduron began to work his hands more deeply, gradually easing the dreadfully tense muscles in Lor’themar’s shoulders as the other started to protest, “That would be rather pointless—” He broke off into a hiss as Halduron leaned forward and nipped gently at his ear.

“Would it?” Halduron asked. “You never talk to me when I do something to upset you, Lor’themar. You bottle it up and try to pretend nothing’s the matter, and then eventually we come to the point where I return to the Spire to find you hardly able to get to a chair without falling over your own feet.”

“I don’t need to be lectured, Halduron.”

“No,” Halduron agreed with another nip at the other’s ear. “But you do need to talk to me before one of us says something he can’t take back.” So saying, he slid his hands from Lor’themar’s shoulders and down his friend’s chest, grinning as Lor’themar moaned and tilted his head back.

“By the Light, Halduron,” Lor’themar hissed. He finally put down the outpost report, and with the same hand reached up and back to weave his fingers through Halduron’s hair. The act was so sudden that Halduron momentarily faltered in his own ministrations, shivering with pleasure before returning the favor and nibbling more insistently along the tip of Lor’themar’s ear.

“We should take this somewhere more comfortable,” Halduron murmured. “Somewhere we aren’t likely to be interrupted.”

“Are you never sated?” Lor’themar asked – a last, feeble protest. He grinned rakishly as he added, “Or do your favorites not know how to make the most of their time with you?”

“Favorites?” Halduron chuckled. “I haveone favorite, Lor’themar – and at this rate I may spend all day arguing with him!”

He pulled Lor’themar to his feet and drew closer to him, kissing and scraping his teeth against the other’s jaw until Lor’themar lowered his head and attacked Halduron’s neck with a hungry, feral growl. How the two made it into Lor’themar’s bedroom and locked the door did not matter; by the time the two fell across the crimson, silken sheets, the world could have gone up in flames around them and neither would have taken notice.

~~~

Later – much later – the two lay winded in Lor’themar’s bed; Halduron sprawled somewhat across Lor’themar’s chest, tracing light, idle circles on the other man’s skin with the nail of his middle finger while Lor’themar (sprawled just as haphazardly across the twisted sheets and mangled, disarrayed pillows) twirled a strand of Halduron’s yellow hair between his fingers. Lazy smiles graced the features of both elves, and though both still bore faint red scratches – and some less-than-faint bite marks that were already turning more purple than red – there was a certain peace about them that had not existed for several long, long months.

“Now will you stop trying to kill yourself every night I’m away?” Halduron finally teased, tilting his head up to fix Lor’themar with a mischievous smirk.

“Hmm.” Lor’themar dropped the strand he was playing with and wove his hand into Halduron’s hair again, watching with a smirk of his own as the blond shivered at his touch. “If this is how you react when I do, I may only get worse,” he mused.

“Stubborn ass,” Halduron chuckled, lifting himself up to plant a kiss on the other’s lips. “Fine. If you’re going to be like that, I suppose I’ll just have to stay here more often to make sure you don’t wind up needing the skills of the Spire’s priests.”

“Well, if you must…” Lor’themar grinned at the exaggerated sigh Halduron let out. “And to think all I had to do was destroy my liver.”

Halduron rolled onto his back and laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Still my favorite World of Warcraft fanfiction in my portfolio. The title refers to Lor'themar's offscreen and onscreen attempts to keep Halduron from guessing why he was getting drunk so frequently--more specifically, it's Halduron's opinion of said attempts.


End file.
